


What Have I Done

by anonymous_fangirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Depression, Drugs, F/M, Implied Willana, Post Season 2, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_fangirl/pseuds/anonymous_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana and Will both blame themselves for what happened to the other in Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Have I Done

Alana hadn't allowed anyone to visit her since she'd been home from the hospital. The two months of rehab had allowed her enough mobility to get around her house, just. But she still found herself in crippling pain in the shower, trying to wash her hair, realising her arms and her back just don't move that way anymore. She could cry in the shower and not realise how many tears were leaking out of her, and that was somewhat comforting, she could pretend she still had it together. 

Will had been calling her every day. She never answered. She would listen to his messages as she lay down on her bed in the middle of the day. She would cry at his touching kindness, before swallowing double the recommended dose of her pain killers and napping. She slept more than not now. There was nothing but pain in her waking life. She couldn't stop the thoughts about Hannibal lying to her, leaving her in his bed to commit heinous murders, hurting Will so bad, and then, of course, the thoughts of blame on herself. How could she have let him do this? How could she have been so blind? How could she have truly believed that Will was a killer? That beautiful man who called her every day to say he was worried about her. The man who rescued stray dogs. The man who kissed her in a way that was so comfortable and yet so exciting, like no one had kissed her before, or since. She hated herself. 

She woke up at around 3pm, to a phone call from Will. Of course she didn't answer it, but she had neglected to turn it to silent. She lay on her back, feeling her heartbeat like a hammer, slamming against her glass bones, thinking about the man on the other end of the phone and what she had done to him. She feebly pulled herself out of bed and walked into her bathroom. She turned on her shower and stepped under the stream, fully clothed, not waiting for the water to heat. She took the razor from its place on her soap dispenser an without so much as a second thought, she dragged the blade down each wrist, swiftly, still managing to bring herself immense pain. She rested her head on the shower wall and contemplated how much she wanted this, how it was all she had thought about since waking up in that hospital to hear what Hannibal had done. She wanted so much to be strong, but learning to walk again, learning to feed herself again, realising how she'd been an alibi for a serial killer, it was all too much, she could never rebuild herself again. Those thoughts sailed around her head as she peacefully drifted out of consciousness, content that she was doing what was best.

***

Will picked up his phone once more. He knew she wouldn't answer. She had begged him not to contact her, but he needed her to know that he was thinking of her. He never stopped thinking of her. He hoped she heard his messages, but he was afraid she was just deleting them. It shocked him that someone could be more broken than him, and he hated that he was involved in that. If he had just killed Hannibal, just shot him, sure, she may have hated him, but at least she never would have known the truth, and that was so much better. He had dreamt about her every night, sometimes in a sexual way, he couldn't help it, but mostly in his dreams he just held her. He missed her, but he knew how proud she was, how mortified she was when he visited her in rehab, how she cried when he saw her fall over. He had left her alone for 3 weeks now, but he couldn't do it anymore. He needed her like oxygen, and he could feel himself suffocating.

He drove to her house, recalling what he'd done when he was last there. She'd never actually had him inside, she just watched out the window as he shot down her would-be killer. Her house was elegant and understated, just like her. He imagined it to be sparsely decorated inside, but not sterile. He couldn't wait to see her again. Her car was in the driveway, covered in a blanket of thick snow. She hadn't driven since she got home, he thought. He hoped she'd taken up her mother's offer to help her out for a little while after she got home. He felt awful that he hadn't made the effort to check. He got out and walked up the path leading to the front door. Newspapers and letters had piled up. Will felt a heaviness in the pit of his stomach. How could he have left her alone? No matter what she may have told him, she needed him, he knew that now. He knocked on the door and wasn't surprised when he got no answer. He listened, hearing her shower running. He walked around her house to the windows, peering in to see which one was her bathroom. On the right side of her house, he noticed the window ajar and saw her ensuite through the sheer curtains. He couldn't mistake the colour of her floor. That crimson that he knew too well. The colour of violence and death. He pulled the window as much as he could, but he couldn't squeeze through, so he ripped the outer frame from its hinges and climbed through. It didn't even enter his mind that the first time he was in Alana's bedroom he was breaking and entering. He ran to the ensuite where she was splayed out, half in the shower, half on the floor, water from the shower carrying the blood from her wrists across the tiles. 

Will ran to her and fell to his knees to cradle her head in his lap. He placed two fingers over her jugular and prayed to the God he didn't believe in that he would feel something. The uncertainty of what he felt was driving him crazy, so he held open her mouth, put his lips to hers and exhaled. Her lips were cold, they didn't respond like they had the first time. The time he couldn't keep his hands off her any longer and kissed her, melting into her as though, for a moment, they were one whole. He punted on her chest and breathed into her mouth but it was pointless. Alana was gone. Will rested his head on her still chest and wept. The water from the shower washing his tears and her blood down the drain.


End file.
